and it's coming closer
by kaylaonbroadway
Summary: 'for a moment when she opens the door, gin and hopefulness keep her from seeing anything but a pair of dark eyes and a glass of amber liquid held lazily in a single hand.' blair waldorf/jack bass, new years' eve. title from 'closer' by kings of leon.


On her first New Years' Eve in recent memory without Chuck Bass, Blair Waldorf opens the door to his suite (because no, she could never bring herself to throw out or return the key) and finds his uncle and a bottle of scotch sprawled on the couch.

She's been drinking steadily since dinner, which is the only reason she has the courage to enter this space that smells, looks, _feels_ so strongly of the boy she loves. For a moment when she opens the door, gin and hopefulness keep her from seeing anything but a pair of dark eyes and a glass of amber liquid held lazily in a single hand. The resemblance is so strong for that fleeting second that she flies forward, his name on her lips and tears in her eyes, but when realization hits, the gin in her stomach turns cold and heavy.

"Expecting someone else?" Jack says, in that mocking caressing tone of voice that seems to be as necessary to Bass men as bow ties and single-malt. "Nephew dearest isn't here, Blair, so unless you want to sub in for the girls I'm planning on bringing up later this evening, you can show yourself out."

"You're disgusting." she says automatically, but the bite isn't there. She can't remember the last time she was in Chuck's suite, and she's too overwhelmed by memory to be irritated. It occurs to her that she's been fucked on most of the surfaces in this suite. Heat blooms low and fast and she swallows, hard, closing her eyes.

"Well, if you're not leaving, at least sit down and have a drink." Jack smirks at her, neglecting a glass and simply passing her the bottle as she walks over and sits on the couch next to him. The small part of her brain that isn't soaked with alcohol is screaming at her about what a bad idea it is for her to be drinking Chuck's scotch in Chuck's suite with Chuck's uncle looking at her like that. But the truth of it is, alcohol flushing her skin, the faint scent of Chuck's cologne permeating the air, the heat of arousal deep in the pit of her stomach, she feels for the first time in weeks as though bursting into tears at any given moment isn't a looming possibility.

"Hey, Blair." Jack drawls, reaching out to swipe his thumb across her bottom lip. The caress startles her, but she's too drunk, too exhausted, too fucked-over to react. "The way I understand it, and correct me if I'm wrong, is that my nephew's pretty much done with you. That about right?"

That _does_ get a reaction from her. She jerks away from his touch, taking another deep swig from the bottle. "Shut the hell up, Jack."

"No, I'm just saying." He grins, teeth white and wolfish in his tan face, and rubs her knee, fingers slipping up her thigh. "So if he's done with you, I shouldn't even feel guilty for wanting to fuck you right now – not that I would have felt guilty anyway."

"Jack, stop it." She slaps at his hand, standing unsteadily. "Don't touch me."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Blair, come on." Jack laughs. "You think I care if you pretend I'm him?" He stands too, completely steady on his feet, and it occurs to her that maybe the older Bass isn't as drunk as he's been pretending to be. His grip on her wrist is tight enough to bruise, and he slings her down onto the couch, jerking his necktie loose. "Here. Hold still – " He goes to tie it around her eyes, and she claws him, twisting away. "Bitch." he snaps, and his backhand rattles her teeth and spins her head but she's so drunk that the burn of his hand feels _good_. He knots the tie around her eyes, blindfolding her.

"Take off your clothes." he tells her roughly.

"Jack, _please_." she whispers, and that's when she discovers her teeth are chattering. "Please don't."

Another backhand, one she didn't see coming, and this one hurts like rejection and regret. "Blair. Take off your fucking clothes."

Her hands are shaking uncontrollably as she fumbles with the zipper of her dress, rolls off her stockings.

"Lie back down." She's drunk, and she's blindfolded, and God, it's terrifying how much he sounds like Chuck.

His hand between her legs is sudden and unexpected, and she twists away from him, whimpering. "No, Jack, don't – please."

His laugh is short and harsh. "You whore. Who are you wet for?" He shoves three fingers inside her, slick and tight and slippery-wet, and she cries out even as her hips arch up toward him.

"Chuck." she gasps. "Chuck. Please. Jack, he'll never forgive me – "

"Oh, I hope not." Jack whispers, thumbing her clit roughly enough to make her whimper and squirm. "I sincerely hope not." His hand vanishes abruptly, and she snakes one of her own between her legs, thinking that maybe if she can just finish she can clear her head and get out of here –

Jack pins both her hands above her head, the weight of his body crushing her, and his voice is low and dangerous in her ear. "You try that again and you'll be tied to the headboard." He lifts her off the couch like she's a sack of flour, tossing her over his shoulder and walking. Blair presumes they're in the bedroom because she's thrown down onto a mattress. She hears his pants unzip and fall to the floor, feels the bedsprings creak with his weight and then he's hovering over her, the head of his cock teasing her entrance.

"Don't, Jack." she pleads, and he pins her hands above her head again, moving into her in one swift stroke. He fucks deep and hard, and she's so wet and hot and oh my _God_, why is this so good? Tears are soaking her makeshift blindfold, not pretty queen-of-the-upper-east-side tears but drunk-off-her-ass-ugly-crying tears. "Please, Jack, don't, just stop, _please_ – "

"Drop it, Blair." he pants. "You fucking love this, you little slut – you love me fucking you into your boyfriend's mattress. You love my cock in your tight cunt – you can't lie to me, Blair, you're so wet – "

"_God_." she whimpers. She's not aware that he's released one of her wrists but he rips the blindfold off, a rough savage smile lighting his beautiful face at the trails of mascara under her eyes. "Look at me, Blair. Look at me while I fuck you."

"Please, Jack." She looks up at him, and he laughs. "Please what?"

"Please – oh, my God – let me come, Jack, _please_ – " Her speech is barely coherent, and he wonders remotely just how much alcohol she's had tonight before he snakes a hand between their bodies and rubs her clit hard and fast. The friction is all she needs, and she comes so hard her already-hazy world blurs and threatens to disappear.

"Stay with me." he pants, raking his teeth down the arch of her neck. "Oh, fuck, Blair – " He jerks out of her and pulls her up, grabbing the back of her head. She takes his cock deep into her mouth, gagging on the length of it as he fucks her face, coming hot and salty down her throat after a few moments. When he's finished, he releases her, collapsing next to her on the bed with his head pillowed on her breasts.

She's staring at the ceiling vacantly, breath still coming short and shallow, blinking occasionally. He goes to get up, and she reaches out to grab his hand, misses and ends up with a fistful of bedsheets. "Don't go." she rasps.

Jack looks down at the drunk mess of a girl in his bed, fucked-up hair, black streaks running to her chin, lipstick smeared halfway across her face, hands shaking, eyes glassy, teeth clenching convulsively into that luscious lower lip. This is the perfect Blair Waldorf, pristine little queen bitch, love of his nephew's life. He grabs his phone, snaps a picture and texts it to Chuck – _this is what u wntd 2 come back 4?_ Blair has somehow managed to get hold of his arm, and he looks down at her. There's something deep and empty in her eyes, and she's looking at him like he can fix it, but Jack has never been much good with emotion. He shakes her free with a jerk of his wrist and a mumbled _thanks_ and walks into the bathroom to clean up. After unintentionally destroying everything he touched for so long, Jack supposes it was only a matter of time before he started doing it on purpose.


End file.
